


bloody and raw (but I swear it is sweet)

by Witcher_Trash_Party



Series: Witcher Dead Dove/Kink Bingo 2021 [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Brief Violence, Cannibalism, Dark fluff, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Pre-Slash, Unknowing cannibalism, it's fluffy but there's cannibalism so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29959404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witcher_Trash_Party/pseuds/Witcher_Trash_Party
Summary: With the first frost coming early and with a long way to go before they reach Kaer Morhen, Geralt is having problems providing for his hungry bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Dead Dove/Kink Bingo 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2203986
Comments: 11
Kudos: 67





	bloody and raw (but I swear it is sweet)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Cannibal".

Geralt has never wanted a travelling companion. He didn’t even think anyone _would_ want to travel with him, especially after Blaviken. Contempt for witchers aside, the Path is uncomfortable at best and deadly at worst. It’s cold rain and mud and dirt, it’s shoddy campfires and sleeping rough, it’s dry rations and too-empty stomach, it’s danger from beasts and men alike. Not ideal conditions for a human to thrive in, much less for a soft bard that carries himself like nobility.

And yet.

Jaskier has attached himself to Geralt’s side after their little adventure in Posada and has so far refused to leave. They do part, of course, for weeks or even months at a time, but they always meet up again, sooner or later.

It’s five years into their friendship that Geralt finally realizes that Jaskier is here to stay, and no amount of monster guts or mud or bug bites will scare him off. There’s no getting rid of him, it seems, and it makes something warm and fluttery bloom in Geralt’s chest.

Now that he’s sure that their attachment is mutual - yes, as much as Geralt hates to admit it, he _had_ been attached, pretty much since their first adventure - he can allow himself to care for the bard. He finds himself wanting to show Jaskier the parts of him that he guards the best. He wants to spend as much time as possible with him, be it talking and laughing or just sitting together in companionable silence - parting with Jaskier seems to get harder and harder every time.

That’s why Geralt has decided to invite Jaskier to winter with him at Kaer Morhen that year. Jaskier accepts immediately and remains steadfast in his decision even after Geralt warns him about the hard trek up the mountain, the chores he’ll be expected to take on, the drafty halls and the rather prickly company.

“Spending the winter with you will make it all worth it, my dear,” Jaskier had said, and that had been the end of it.

When the leaves on the trees started to turn brown, they set their course towards Kaedwen, confident in making it to the keep in good time.

But then Geralt had gotten caught up on what, at first, seemed like a banal contract, and then the first frost came way too soon, catching them off-guard, and that’s how Geralt an Jaskier ended up here and now: trekking through the woods in freezing rain.

“How much further, Geralt?” Jaskier whines from where he’s trudging after Geralt and Roach, huddled in his heavy winter cloak, too damp to keep him warm. “My legs hurt, and I can’t feel my feet, and I’m _so_ hungry I could eat a horse! No offense, Roach.”

These past few days, they wake up with the sunrise, they trudge onwards, and then camp down sometime after sundown, pushing themselves as far as they can, hoping to make it to Kaer Morhen before the pass is snowed in. The weather is terrible and they’ve eaten most of their provisions already and Geralt understands that Jaskier _is_ hanging on far better than anyone else of his station would.

“Hold on,” Geralt says, “we’ll make camp soon.”

Geralt keeps his word - as soon as he finds a suitable place for it, they settle down and start building their camp. A big tree shelters their campsite from the worst of the downpour, and while the ground isn’t dry, it’s not outright muddy.

While Jaskier settles close to the fire, warming his hands, Geralt goes over their provisions. They have very little left, the shortcuts Geralt has taken to make their trip shorter have led them through the forest, far away from towns and villages - and he needs to keep at least _some_ buffer in case things get even worse for them. He has to go hunting tonight.

Hunting in the rain, and this close to winter at that, isn’t the best bet. But Geralt is a witcher, so he tries to be confident in his abilities.

He tries to catch a scent trail, but the rain has destroyed them. He looks for fresh tracks, but they’re scarce and half-washed away. In the end, he creeps through the forest aimlessly, hoping to simply run into something.

Just when he’s about to turn back and return to camp empty-handed, he smells blood. Not animal blood, no - _human_ blood. Human blood means that there’s a threat nearby - a threat that he has to investigate and neutralyze, to keep Jaskier safe.

He follows the heavy, metallic scent of blood, but it’s soon joined by the smell of smoke and that sharp, acrid mix of pain and fear. He hears voices, though, and he sees fire in the distance, and the combination of it all twists something in his gut. These monsters are most likely human.

The scents are overwhelming by the time he reaches the campsite. He watches from the shadows, observing the situation. What he sees shocks him - in all his long years of living, he has never seen something like this.

There’s a man, dead, laid out on the ground, and two people are leaning over the corpse as they butcher it, separating meat from skin and bone. A woman is tending to the fire. One man is wiping himself clean of blood. Another man is carving something out of a human femur, gleefully whistling as he works. In the absence of available game, these people have found a desperate solution to their hunger.

He’s thrown off-kilter by the sight. He’s about to turn back and hope they will be too full to go after him and Jaskier tonight, but a snap of a twig or a sharp intake of breath gives him away.

The cannibals’ eyes snap up to him, noticing his yellow eyes in the darkness beyond their camp. They shout and they grab their weapons and they lunge after him, so Geralt has no other choice but to draw steel.

One second, he’s twirling between them, blocking daggers and knives and a shortsword and even crossbow darts in a deadly dance - they aren’t trained, but there’s more of them. A moment later, Geralt stands in the middle of the camp, surrounded by six corpses, one half-butchered.

Five dead, and for what? For Geralt to return to Jaskier empty-handed? He can’t bear the thought of letting Jaskier go hungry tonight - even if he were to reach for their provisions, it wouldn’t make for a very filling meal.

He’ll blame his concern for his bard’s well-being for the thought that worms its way, unbidden, to the forefront of his mind. _These people were onto something - meat is meat_.

He knows Jaskier wouldn’t like it. He’d be disgusted, think Geralt a monster for even considering it - the bard could handle a lot, but Geralt is sure he’d draw the line at consuming human meat - and now that Geralt has let him close, he refuses to let him go. He likes Jaskier far too much. But if this is the only way to feed him tonight…

What Jaskier doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Gods, Geralt,” Jaskier cries when he sees him, “what happened?”

Only then Geralt realizes there’s blood on him - blood from a fight, not from hunting. Good thing Jaskier isn’t perceptive enough to smell whose blood it is, or to hear a lie in Geralt’s heartbeat. “Ran into a bear,” he says, “had to fight it for my kill.”

Jaskier gasps. “A bear? Darling, are you okay? Are we safe for the night?”

“I’m okay,” Geralt assures him, a warm feeling spreading through him at having Jaskier worry about him. He really doesn’t want to lose this. He’s going to hang onto it with everything he has. “We’re safe.”

Jaskier _beams_ when he sees the meat. He claps his hands together, delighted, and Geralt knows he has made the right choice. If it fills Jaskier’s belly and makes him smile at Geralt like this, it can’t be a bad thing.

Geralt salts the meat and roasts it over the fire. To him, the smell is very distinct as it cooks, but Jaskier doesn’t seem to notice it.

The true test comes when the meat is done and ready to eat.

Geralt watches Jaskier closely as the bard eagerly takes a bite. With bated breath, Geralt waits for his reaction.

Jaskier _moans_ around his mouthful. “Oh, Geralt, this - ” he mumbles, then he holds up a hand to signal to Geralt to give him time while he chews and swallows. Mouth empty, he speaks up again. “This is _delicious_! Soft, and a little sweet - tell me, what animal is this?”

Geralt blinks at Jaskier for a few long moments, making sense of his words.

Jaskier doesn’t pay him much attention, too engrossed in devouring more of his human steak. He eats with gusto, as if this is the best meat he has ever had.

Dear gods, Jaskier _likes_ it…

“Badger,” Geralt finally says, the first animal he can think of that Jaskier’s noble tongue probably hasn’t tasted.

Jaskier hums, taking another bite. “You’ll need to catch a badger for us more often,” he decides, “this is the best meal I’ve had in weeks.”

Instead of answering, Geralt stuffs his mouth with meat.

If Jaskier wants more, Geralt will provide it. Meat is meat, even wrapped in a harmless white lie. If it makes Jaskier this happy, it can’t be a bad thing.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr as [@witchertrashparty](https://witchertrashparty.tumblr.com/).


End file.
